I've Got This Friend
by Amynion
Summary: Every story has a beginning and an end...
1. Chapter 1

**Note**: Title and quotes are from "I've Got This Friend" by The Civil Wars.

This is one of those accidental fics that came out of nowhere. I recently came across these lyrics and knew I wanted to do something with them... and then yesterday I was at home sick and this happened. Apparently being ill makes me extra angsty. If you want fluff, turn away now! You have been warned :)

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**I've Got This Friend**

**Chapter One**

_I've got this friend  
I don't think you know him  
He's not much for words  
He's hid in his hardened way_

Porthos watched the man sitting in the corner of the tavern. Athos? Was that his name? He was certainly well into his drink, as he had been the night before... and the night before that. Porthos had paid more attention to his card games that first night. The newcomer wasn't his responsibility. But now he found his eyes continually drawn to that corner…

Athos was new to the regiment. Porthos was a fairly new recruit himself, but in the past week a slew of even newer recruits had been rushed through. Twenty two men had just perished at Savoy. The bodies had not even been brought home yet, but those bodies had been expected back, alive, and on duty days ago. They were severely lacking in manpower.

Finally Porthos threw in his cards, he had a lousy hand anyway, and made his way over to the brooding man's table.

"Mind if I join you?"

A baleful glare was his only answer. But after an uncomfortable moment Athos pushed himself up and waved an open hand to the chair opposite.

"I'm sure I've seen you at the garrison, new aren't you?"

The man's attention was entirely on his glass.

"My name is Porthos."

Athos didn't offer his own name, he just slumped a little further on the table top.

"It's Athos isn't it? Not much for words are you?" Porthos eyed the near empty bottle. "Not when you've had a drink anyway…"

He had overheard the others speaking of Athos... wondering about him, curious about where he came from… The way he talked and held himself spoke of a high born upbringing. One thing was for sure - Athos wasn't there to make friends. He certainly wasn't making any sequestered away in the tavern corner.

Porthos gave the man a sad smile. He understood being different. Whether it was the colour of his skin or his own background, the other musketeers hadn't warmed to him either. But Porthos would give it time. He hoped after cracking a few more skulls in hand to hand he would at least earn some level of respect. Thinking that birds of a feather might flock together, Porthos had come over to speak with Athos. But he wouldn't be flying anywhere tonight… The rather tipsy man tried to push himself up, he only managed to sway dangerously.

"Woah there…" Porthos reached out a hand to steady him. "Why don't you let me help you? Hm? I'll see you home safely."

Finally he spoke. "Don't need… yr… hlp…"

The words were slurred and broken, but Porthos got the gist. "Well, you're going to need help from somebody. Unless you want to spend the night on the street when they turf you out?"

He watched Athos for a moment and then moved to help the man to his feet. There were no more objections as Porthos gently manhandled him outside.

"Right, where do you live?"

The cold night air seemed to revive Athos a little. He raised his head and groggily pointed left, Porthos slowly started moving them in that direction. In this way Athos eventually managed to guide them to his door. Porthos made a note of where it was, in case he needed to take Athos home again next time… Little did he know how many 'next times' there would be.

It was the day after when they were tasked with delivering some important documents outside of Paris. Athos, Porthos, and two others took to the road. Porthos rode up ahead, with the two musketeers behind him, and Athos bringing up the rear. He could hear the men whispering and laughing under their breath. They were making fun of him, he knew... Porthos was new to riding - There was no money in the Court for food, let alone horses. He felt quite awkward on the back of his mount, and the others found his ham fisted attempts at riding quite funny. They especially laughed when the wretched beast would tear the reins from his hands in order to track off to one side and nibble at the bushes…

But then something caught his eye up ahead, and he managed to wrangle his horse to the side of the road. With a shout the others followed his example. Approaching was a line of carts flanked by musketeers… Though the backs were covered by sheets, their cargo was unmistakable. The dead returned from Savoy. Porthos respectfully took his hat off and held it to his chest as they passed by. His companions were silent, as were the riders and drivers. Only the snorting horses made a sound as the carts trundled on, piled high with bodies. The last one went by uncovered, a man sat in the back…_ a survivor_. There had been no word of survivors. Porthos' heart went out to the man. His knees were drawn up to his chest and he stared at nothing. A red stained bandage wrapped his head… Beneath the hollow look Porthos seemed to remember knowing the man. Aramis? He was hardly recognisable. Porthos had never seen him without a smile upon his face. At the tavern he was always charming some woman or other. He didn't know the man well, but he had been kind enough to Porthos in their few interactions. Porthos recalled one time in particular when Aramis had offered him some advice on shooting. Afterwards Aramis spent time with Porthos showing him exactly how to clean his gun. He had been quite thorough and particular, explaining that a misfire could cost a brother's life. If somebody survived, he was glad it was Aramis. But going by the look on his face, Aramis would not be so glad…

"Come on, we should get moving." Athos started riding ahead.

Porthos' eyes were still on the retreating carts.

It was some time later when the four men considered stopping to make camp. They were just about to ride off the path towards some trees when a shot rang out.

"Bandits!" A cry went up.

Five men burst from the tree line and raced towards them. Athos drew his pistol and shot one dead, while Porthos' shot went awry. He tried to wheel the horse about to ride in with his sword, but it was on its toes and not responding to Porthos' clumsy efforts. The others engaged their blades all around him, riding past, slashing, and then coming to blows inches away from each other.

With a frustrated huff Porthos got off his horse and made for the nearest bandit. He was too late to save the musketeer that fell beneath his blade… The bandit in question made for Athos who was already trading thrust and parry with his own opponent. Porthos ran for all he was worth. Just as the bandit raised his sword to Athos' vulnerable back he grabbed the man's leg and tipped him off his horse. The bandit yelled as he hit the ground unexpectedly, and then between one breath and the next Porthos ran him through.

When Athos' opponent fell the remaining bandit took flight. Athos looked about him and spotted Porthos, wiping blood off his blade on the ground.

Porthos gave him a slight grin, expecting a word of thanks for saving the man's life.

When Athos rode up and told him to mount in rather a clipped tone, Porthos couldn't help but mutter a very sarcastic '_thank you for saving me, Porthos_' under his breath.

It didn't go unnoticed.

Athos fixed an eye on him. "I don't need saving."

When their sorry group was back on the road, Porthos took the rear. Athos was up ahead, riding next to the third musketeer, who led the fourth horse with their fallen brother's body lashed to it. Every now and then Athos would shoot a look over his shoulder at Porthos... and just in time to see him struggling with his horse as well. Porthos scowled… Athos looked like he was born in a bloody saddle. Not everyone was so lucky.

In time Athos dropped back beside Porthos. He shot a questioning look at the man, but Athos just pointed down at his foot in the stirrup.

"You want to place it more on the ball of your foot, and keep your heels down."

Porthos tried to do as he advised. He did feel a little more secure…

"And don't pull on her mouth so much. When you want to stop, tighten your seat and stomach, then add a little rein if necessary. You don't need to flap your legs either, just a little squeeze will do... If you're delicate with her, she'll be delicate with you. They learn to respond to the lightest commands."

Porthos huffed a laugh. "Feels like she doesn't want to respond to any commands."

"That's because you're shouting at her... learn to whisper."

"You talking about horses or women?"

At that Athos cracked a half smile.

**~oOo~**

It was chaos.

A group of Spanish had moved into French territory, and so the musketeers had been sent to push them back. It would have been a straightforward mission, except the Spaniards had been warned of their coming… The camp seemed asleep and unaware, luring them in... but the Spanish had men waiting in the trees. Their unseen muskets took out near half the musketeers before their swords could be drawn. The attack rapidly unravelled after that…

"d'Artagnan! Get Aramis and make for the horses! We fall back!" Athos yelled. "Everyone! Fall back!"

Porthos stood fighting by his side, both their faces and doublets were spattered with blood.

"To the horses, Porthos… Get to the horses!" Athos managed as he thrust his opponent through the chest.

When Porthos felled his opponent he turned to make for the horses… but there was a loud bang and he found himself falling head first into the sodden grass. For a moment he thought he'd been shot, but there was no pain... Something heavy landed on top of him. Frantically he rolled over and came face to face with Athos. His friend's eyes were blown wide and blood tinged his lips a sick scarlet colour. Porthos shot his head up in time to see a musketeer tackle the Spanish shooter to the ground.

"Athos… what did you do… what did you do?" Words tumbled from his mouth as he worked at Athos' doublet.

Athos just clutched tightly at his hands, as if urging them to still, knowing nothing could be done. "Had to… save you."

Blood flecked the air with his words.

Porthos moved his stained hands to Athos' face. "I don't need saving." His words were strangled, distraught.

Athos managed a pained smile and swallowed heavily. "You saved… me."

So many times and in so many ways.

"Stay with me, Athos… Keep your eyes open, keep looking at me."

Athos' breath stuttered and stalled before ceasing…

Porthos let out a harsh breath as he brushed those vacant eyes closed, trying and failing to find words… Instead he rocked back and loosed a howl from his chest.

In the end, they had saved each other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Oh I've got this friend  
A loveless romantic  
All that he really wants  
Is someone to want him back_

One morning Porthos rode into the garrison after being relieved from guard duty. It was quiet, not a soul to be seen… Well, almost. He very nearly missed Aramis sitting at the bench. Still, there wasn't much of a soul left there…

Porthos dismounted and went to tether his horse before returning to look in on the man. He stared vacantly at the table top, watching the most fascinating of nothing. Since returning from Savoy Aramis had been holed away in his sickbed, seen by few apart from the Captain and the physician. Still the rumours circulated…

… _Marsac left him you know… _

… _Alone in the snow with twenty dead men…_

… _imagine what that would do…_

… _he's half mad they say… talks to himself… stares at nothing…_

Aramis certainly was staring at nothing. But Porthos wasn't quite ready to believe he was half mad. Living in the court made him no stranger to trauma and the men and women who suffered it. Sometimes it just took time and a little care to chase the demons away.

Porthos eyed the bandage at Aramis' head and warily approached the bench. "Should you be out here?"

The man's eyes shot up.

Porthos raised a hand to indicate the head wound. He hadn't meant to intrude or offend.

Aramis' eyes dropped back down and he clutched his arms around his chest as if to ward off the cold. "Don't want to be in there…"

His voice was rough and hoarse, it almost pained Porthos to hear him speak.

"I know, it must be tedious staring at the same four walls." Porthos hovered, not knowing if he was welcome to sit down or not.

Aramis fixed him with a cold eye. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

His gaze wandered again, the man seemed reluctant to say any more.

Porthos took a seat... he wasn't going to get an invite, but Aramis wasn't turning him away. Quietly they endured each other's company. Porthos just waited. And then it came…

"I see them… when I close my eyes." Aramis' eyes settled on a particular spot on the table as he spoke reluctantly. "Bodies, frozen in the snow, being picked at by ravens…"

Porthos just listened, sensing it wasn't the right time to speak. Aramis shuddered in a harsh breath and continued.

"He left me there… Marsac… He left me to die. I don't know why..."

"Sometimes when a man sees such terrible things his mind shuts down. He'll do the unthinkable… like leave friends in the snow, or see it again and again so vividly he'll think he's going mad."

"Do you think I'm mad? I know what they say…"

"Of course not. You just need some time to get back to normal. Look, here…" Porthos placed his pistol on the table top. "Here's a bit of normal. Just a minute."

He quickly went to retrieve some cleaning tools and returned to find Aramis trembling slightly, his eyes fixed on the pistol as if he were considering using it. This time Porthos went to sit next to him. The man flinched when Porthos' fingers brushed against his arm.

"You showed me how to do this once. I'm afraid I've left it and got a bit rusty…"

Aramis took the pistol with shaking hands, though they seemed to still when he set to cleaning it.

After a few moments he gave a series of tuts and took on a chastising tone. "What did I tell you about keeping your weapons properly maintained?"

"I know, I'm sorry." Porthos grinned in spite of himself.

After a few moments Aramis' hands stilled on the pistol. He looked up thoughtfully. "Are you going to leave, Porthos?"

"No." Porthos gave the man's shoulder a slight squeeze and was pleased to find he didn't flinch. "I'm not leaving you."

He wouldn't leave like Marsac, or the girls that drifted in and out of his life. Porthos didn't know the man well, but from what he had seen of Aramis, the young man threw himself into these relationships wholeheartedly. More often than not he came out of them with a little less heart left... Porthos had seen the other musketeers consoling him come morning muster.

They sat in a companionable silence for some time before a thought struck Porthos. "Why don't you come to the tavern with me tonight? I bet the ladies have missed your smile, and I've got a friend I'd like you to meet. I don't think you know him… He's not much for words, but he warms up eventually."

**~oOo~**

He staggered into Aramis who was pulling them both through the trees with some difficulty. Porthos' thoughts were like treacle, somewhere while taking flight a Spaniard had caught him across the head with the butt of a pistol.

Aramis had got there just in time.

"Athos… Athos…" He had to tell Aramis. Aramis _needed_ to know... but his thoughts just wouldn't form into the right words.

"I'll go back to look for him when I've got you out of here." Aramis grit out tightly.

"No… you don't understand…" Porthos closed his eyes against a wave of pain.

"Stay with me, Porthos. I need you on your feet."

As it was their feet were tripping, slipping and stumbling. The ground through the trees was uneven and riddled with treacherous roots.

"d'Artag…"

"He's fine, he's getting out of here."

"You should…"

"I couldn't have left without you!" Aramis was breathing hard around his words.

Behind them Porthos was sure he could hear a smattering of voices in Spanish… Aramis dropped his head and cursed before trying to hurry them along a little faster.

"Leave me…"

"I'm not leaving you!"

It was only a matter of time before they fell. The world spun around Porthos and when it settled again he found himself leaning against a tree, concealed by undergrowth.

"Alright… You're alright…" Aramis ran a frantic hand through his hair. "They're getting closer. I'm just going to go and kill them and I'll be right back, I promise."

"Aramis…" Porthos reached out an unsteady hand.

"I'm coming back, I'm not leaving you." Aramis met Porthos' eyes with a stony gaze and drew out his pistol.

Before he managed to say another word, Aramis had gone.

Porthos was left just listening… There was nothing to hear but his own heavy breaths… and then a hail of gunfire.

Porthos waited. Time slipped by so slowly... hours seemed to pass.

In the end it wasn't Aramis who found him.


End file.
